


Revenge

by loyalterrier



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 22:39:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6773143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loyalterrier/pseuds/loyalterrier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cuddy has had enough of House's verbal abuse. It's time for her to kick off her little Jimmy Choos, get down and dirty. She takes the Honda for a spin. Sometimes you hate someone so much it fees like love. This is un-betaed... any mistakes are my own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is almost seven years old and I've never done anything with it. It's just a short one-shot. I'm trying to consolidate my works in one place. I believe this is set during Season 5, but could really be set at any point after House gets the Honda. I wouldn't consider this Huddy, but there's cannon mention of what happened at the University of Michigan.

I shift gears with my toe and rev the engine as the light turns green. The wind in my hair feels like a blast from a jet engine in the heat wave Princeton is experiencing. This is like a hate-fuck... only so much better. House is going to kill me when he finds out.

_Being bad feels pretty good_ , I hear my conscience whisper seductively. I feel my lips twitch in a smile.

Barely checking the mirror, I swerve into the left hand lane to avoid a particularly slow vehicle. At the next red light, a man in a late model sedan rolls down his window, "Hey, baby! You lookin' for a good time?"

"Go to hell!" I shout over the yowl of the Honda.

**_36 minutes earlier_**

I'm standing in my office, finally alone after House's latest round of verbal abuse. This time it had been different... he had actually touched me and my skin still burned. The simplest touch of his hand on my wrist had reduced me to the quivering undergraduate I still felt like some days. Usually after the yelling, railing, and pill-popping-- House's, not mine. Although I'm guilty of the occasional Tylenol after those scenes.

I've had it up to the thirty-six Cs that House is so fond of cracking wise at. There and then some. I watch him limp to the elevator to go sit in on a surgery I authorized simply because it had been the lesser of two evils. 'I hate you, Greg House,' I think.

_No, you don't_ , a voice sing-songs at me.

'Today, I do,' I tell it. And as quickly as that, an idea takes root in my brain. Praising myself for choosing slacks this morning, I slip out of my Prada heels and tug on my tennis shoes... my idea may ruin them, but it will be worth it.

Locking my office, I tell my assistant to hold my calls and that I will return. He squinches the corners of his eyes at me in confusion. I let him wonder.

Going to the fourth floor, I quietly invade the Diagnostics suite. Snatching the keys to the Honda from House's jacket, I note which pocket and roughly how they are positioned. Exiting quickly, I make it out without running into any of the team or Wilson.

_There is a God._ The voice sighs.

Going straight out the side door, I find the bike... predictably parked in a handicap spot. Well... the space between a handicap sign and a cement post... a space that no one else would reasonably park in. Casting a furtive glance around and finding no one, I mount the bike and find myself almost too short for it. 'Damn his long legs,' I think.

_He never thought that about you_ , the voice again. Maybe I'm losing my mind. I have to be, right? Stealing his bike in broad daylight.

I put the keys in the ignition and start it before rolling it backwards out of the "parking spot". The engine roars to life much louder than I expected, and I put my sunglasses on before shifting gears with my toe and gunning the bike away from the curb like some action heroine.

Blasting through Princeton on my stolen bike, my revenge starts to feel pretty good.

_You are so passive-aggressive_ , House's voice whines in my head. Maybe I am... but it feels pretty damn good right now. 

*****************************************

I'm off like a shot as soon as the light turns green, leaving behind my law-abiding, Dean of Medicine persona just as surely as I leave behind the oogler in the sedan. I feel like my revenge is complete, so I head back towards the hospital. Weaving through traffic (mid-afternoon on a Wednesday, no less) I slow the Repsol as I turn onto hospital property. Parking it exactly where I'd found it almost an hour ago, I kill the engine and palm the keys.

Feeling pretty good about myself, I feel the weight of my law-abiding, Dean of Medicine persona fall back around me.

Going straight to my office, I pull out my own keys and unlock the door. Craig stares at me with eyes the size of dinner plates. I can't figure out why until I catch sight of my reflection in the door.

My hair is an unruly mess of chocolate tangles whipped every which way.

I let myself into my office and proceed to finger comb my hair until it looks less like I've been stealing co-workers vehicles. Unfortunately, it now looks like "after nooner" hair.

'Great, House is going to pounce on that one,' I think sarcastically. Peeking at the clock, I try to judge how long the surgery is likely to hold House's attention. Probably not much longer... especially if they found what he was looking for.

I steel myself as if I am about to make the Walk of Shame. Leaving my office, I head for the elevator again... images of Michigan flash through my mind.

That ride had been better than a hate-fuck. I remember oh, so clearly what happened the last time House and I had been together. Remembering it sent chills of anger down my spine. Anger and mortification.

I didn't remember being that stupid as a young adult.

Well... maybe I do. Flashes of the morning after swim through my mind. From not being able to find my underwear the next morning, to walking into a lobby full of semi-drunken and hungover frat boys who cat-called and teased me before chasing me from the house.

I had been the dumb undergrad... he had been the legend. And sometimes I still hated him for it.

I'm an angry, vindictive bitch... so I told most of my friends (and word spread) that it had been a mistake, he was an asshole, and I'd had better. A great game of Two Truths and a Lie.

The elevator opens on the fourth floor, and I find both offices still deserted (miracle of miracles). Swooping in I hastily deposit the key in his jacket. Turning to leave, I spot a piece of paper laying folded on his desk with my name scribbled on the outside.

Picking it up, I find it empty on the inside. Looking around, I still see no one.

I drop it back on the desk, empty side up.

'Greg House... you are a strange man,' I think as I make my way out of the office. My hair is still tussled, and I pull it off to one side while I watch my blurred reflection in the elevator doors. The doors open to reveal a very pissed off House looming at the back of the car.

I'm determined to not show fear, I summon the feeling of riding the bike... of how bad felt good and I meet his firey blue gaze evenly. For once in his life, he simply stews instead of shouting. I step in and turn my back to him.

"Hope you had a good time," House snarks, hot breath on my bare neck. I can't help smiling evilly.

"You're God-damn right I did." I say as the doors slide closed.


End file.
